Untitled
by Cherished Dreams
Summary: I’m waiting here at the spot we “meet” at, hoping against the odds that you’d show up, because you know I need some answers, because you know I need to ask.


**Untitled  
By **Cherished Dreams

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

I'm waiting here at the spot we "meet" at, hoping against the odds that you'd show up, because you know I need some answers, because you know I need to ask. I've waited for so long hoping you'd show up, hoping that you might perhaps … come back. If not for me or my questions, then for Harry or for the Order or something! I just … I just need to see, to hear your side of the story. Because I've learnt that people's perspective and factors surrounding them, seem to affect their judgment and memory. 

I've asked Harry to replay it over and over but my brain is running slow and Harry's patience is starting to wane and it doesn't make sense even though I've thought about it from so many different angles.

I feel for once for lack of a better word … stupid. And sometimes when I think of that, I hear that bitter laugh that escapes my mouth. Because… we both know that I'm not even close to that.

I feel like the answer is just right under my nose or better yet, hiding around the corner and although I try my hardest to get around that bend, I can't seem to catch up and see the truth. Because it's gone another bend and it seems like I need to solve another piece of this, confusing yet slightly exhilarating and frustrating, puzzle-ish maze that I've found myself walking into.

This maze. _You_.

I have so many questions to ask you. I replay them in my mind over and over. And yet when I saw your face plastered on the front page of the Daily Prophet, I lose that well-rehearsed script of words and questions and … everything of what I'll do and say when (NOT if) I see you again, in my mind. And then the only question I can think of is "Why?" But it seems Harry has already answered that question for me; and although his answer of "for his family" seems to feed my growing curiosity, it doesn't suffice. It only makes me want you to come back more.

I can't begin to imagine what its like to have the most feared man in our world, use your family to threaten you, should you have failed. Not that he wasn't already mad at Lucius for failing to retrieve the prophesy. But I can imagine the fear rushing in your mind. Harry told me that you had dropped your wand arm while talking to Dumbledore. And that you looked scared like a child would -- scared shitless.

I remember when you first looked at me differently after that an especially long and satisfying class of transfiguration. Harry and Ron hadn't noticed it, but I think you somewhat anticipated that at least I would.

You needed help, you said; on an ongoing project that one of your teachers had given you, after I had followed you to the deserted girls' bathroom where Moaning Myrtle lived. You knew I would know the right books to go after, and I was so overwhelmed that you out of all people would ask my help that I obligingly gave you some book recommendations.

I remember leaving notes on magical items and the way some worked in the bathroom, hoping against hope that you would come back and find them. And you did. I remember that after the few notes I left at the beginning, my heart would deflate in disappointment when I found nothing from you. But after the third, you left a small note of thanks. You can't imagine what that made me feel. I thought perhaps maybe I was seeing a side of you that no-one mightn't've tried to break to.

Harry even started to talk about you during the year about being suspicious. And even then when the flattery had somewhat worn off I felt that the only way he could justify he's growing suspicions would be to get to know you and hear it straight from you. I don't think that he ever really thought that there could be some good in you. I know Ron would never think so. Mentioning you even casually in a conversation would make Harry's brow crease and Ron exclaim loudly over '_that bloody ferret'_. I disregarded his suspicions as I knew of your secret project.

_…I'm scared for you._

In the back of my mind, there are visions of your mangled body lying somewhere in a ditch, bloody, battered, bruised, and worse still… **_dead_**. I don't know why, but I do. And it scares me (although I do believe the war is right at our doorsteps now) that another person like the one Harry described to me could be killed. I don't know the whole story but you seem innocent to me; being used as a pawn of the Dark Lord's grand scheme.

I really do want to hear it from you, but now I see the red-orange rays of light from the sun, from under the door of the bathroom stall I'm in. The sun is coming up slowly but surely and Harry and Ron will be looking for me, wanting to know of my night's survival, wanting to keep me safe, and I must go. I hear my body scream with the rushing blood moving through my veins, at my stiff movements.

But as I open the stall door, in Moaning Myrtle's girl's bathroom, I find you worn and tired but in one piece staring back at me with your pale grey eyes mingled with surprise and relief. I feel my sleepy eyes widen and my stiff arms moving to curl around your neck on their own. Surprisingly, I feel your calloused fingers through the fabric of my clothes, as you wrap your arms around me in return.

You're alive. I might not get my story from you, but seeing you alive and living another day, is enough for me right now.

* * *

**A/N:** Another short one for ya'll :P I'm sorry for the lack of updates. This one just burst through my unimaginative state at the moment. **Help me name it!** XD - click on the review but and let me hear your suggestions. :) 


End file.
